Both unwilling to take it on faith that the approaching motorcycles were friendlies, and unready to assume that the explosion hadn’t done critical damage to something with enough energy to be dangerous, Josh pulled the holocube from it’s socket and put it in the knapsack, then bolted for cover in a damaged house, left open. A pair of sportbikes, flanking a flame red Alfa Romeo Giulietta, arrived, and transformed once their passengers disembarked. Immediately, the Italian automech and it’s accompanying partner walked over.

“Hey, there’s no telling if that building’s still structurally sound, you should come out. You don’t have to be afraid of us, we’re the good guys,” the ’mech said in a soothing tone of voice.

Josh walked out, hands up. “How’d you know I was there?”

“Redshift here can see infrared and ultraviolet spectrums when he wants to. You can put your hands down, we’re not the cops. I’m guessing you’re the friend that Silverfox mentioned?” the ’Mech’s partner, a statuesque Hispanic woman, asked him.